


What a lovely way to burn

by tahariel



Series: Frontseat 'verse [6]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:38:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahariel/pseuds/tahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a question of whether Erik is ill enough to go home, it's whether he'll admit to Charles that he needs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a lovely way to burn

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came from a [discussion](http://tahariels.tumblr.com/post/36071588742/when-youre-only-sitting-down-for-a-second-and-then) [on](http://tahariels.tumblr.com/post/36075953815/mmmmm-frontseat-erik-crawling-into-charles-lap-and) [my tumblr](http://tahariels.tumblr.com/post/36096947806/shinishichan-replied-to-your-post-mmmmm) about how lovely Frontseat!Erik would be crawling into Charles' lap, but that given how stubborn he is he would definitely have to be sick and high on medication first. This is the result ;)
> 
> With thanks to Spicedpiano for the excellent beta, as always!

Charles usually keeps a light touch on Erik’s mind throughout the working day, except for when he’s working in Cerebro with Hank; it’s shallow, but just enough that Charles has a gentle background buzz of Erik’s general cantankerousness, hidden fondness for his team, and spikes of interest in his projects to keep Charles company while he works. 

It’s Tuesday morning, so he’s still in the middle of his mandated office hours when he feels the tenor of Erik’s mind change. He pauses mid-sentence to frown, turning his head towards the window and confusing the poor student whose paper he was discussing. << _Erik?_ >>

<< _It’s nothing,_ >> Erik responds, and then sneezes again. Charles can almost feel the judder of Erik’s body now that he’s paying attention, the slow-growing tingling sensation in Erik’s sinuses. << _I’m fine._ >>

“Professor…?”

“Sorry, Kitty - I’ll be just a moment, I’m being called on the other line.” Charles gestures at his forehead and the girl smiles a little even though it’s not a terribly good joke. He redirects his attention inward, stretching back over a few blocks to where Erik is sat in his office over at Stark Industries, hunched over a table covered in blueprints and glowering at his staff whenever they dare to approach his open door. _< <You’re coming down with something._>>

<< _I’m fine. It’s probably just a cold. Don’t fuss._ >>

Outside it’s absolutely pouring down rain, the November sky grey and utterly covered in clouds, water splashing back up from the sodden sidewalks and students running past with their bags held over their heads. Charles taps his finger against the arm of his chair, frowning, and tries to remember if he brought an umbrella. << _All right. But if you get worse we can always go home. I can work on my contributions to the mutant healthcare bill just as well from there, if not better._ >>

<< _I’m not going to play live test subject,_ >> Erik thinks, and though it’s grumpy it’s fond, too, underneath all the prickles, where only Charles is deft enough to tread. << _It’s the snot of a mutant, not mutant snot. I don’t need a specialist burns unit to deal with my boogers._ >>

Charles smiles, and says << _Let me know if it gets worse,_ >> putting the weight of an order behind it even as he presses the idea of a kiss to the corner of Erik’s mouth and pulls back to his office. Poor Kitty is fiddling with her cell phone. It takes her a moment to realise he’s with her again before she tucks it away and they can get back to her questions.

He would like to pretend that his students have his full attention throughout the morning, but if he’s honest with himself he’s only half present, the rest of his mind stuck on what to do about Erik. He can’t hover the way he’d like to; Erik is too sensitive now to Charles’ presence for him to get away with that without serious espionage, which would be a violation of Erik’s trust in any case. But it’s hard to focus on his freshmen intro class’ angst over having to write a _whole essay, Professor!_ for their midterm paper when he’s trying to decide if Erik will own up to being sick enough to need to go home, if he needs to, or if he’ll try to stick it out without admitting to Charles that he needs help.

Once office hours are over Charles wanders across the corridor to the staff break room to refill his thermos. While he waits for the ancient boiler to heat, he considers what to do. Even without stretching himself he can feel that Erik is getting woozier, more congested and fouler-tempered with every passing moment. It's fairly obvious Erik is not going to be well enough to work the entire afternoon, but he hasn't said a word to Charles since he'd reached out earlier.

It’s difficult. If he pushes too hard Erik is liable to refuse to obey, but at the same time he needs Charles to be able to take control in order to feel secure in their dynamic, to trust that Charles is in charge and allow him that power. After a little more than a year together, it’s a lot easier to get that from Erik - he kneels without hesitating in private, and while he’ll never be patient he lets Charles make him wait for satisfaction, trusts him to follow through.

Yet there are still times when Charles makes what he considers to be a reasonable request and Erik balks, furious and defiant, all but daring Charles to force him to submit.

The boiler rattles and sweats, and eventually lets out a steaming driblet of water so hot that Charles has to take a step back to keep from getting an inadvertent spa treatment. It makes the whole room hot and stuffy, and when put together with Erik's symptoms he’s starting to feel a little unwell himself. He crosses to the tiny window and tugs up the sash, which lets in a wash of cold air that sends goosebumps prickling over his skin. 

In the courtyard outside his office window the rain is still falling and the campus streets are populated entirely by umbrellas. Even the pigeons are huddled under benches and ledges, bedraggled and unhappy. When the boiler finally trickles out he takes the thermos back to his office, and settles into his chair, decanting some of the tea into his oversized mug. He watches the clouds through the glass and sips his drink slowly, rolling the bitter flavour over his tongue.

It takes a while before he feels Erik put down his pen, more a pause in his thoughts than an awareness of his movements. Surely, Charles thinks, it’s been long enough, now, for Erik to have admitted to himself that it’s not going to get better. << _How are you doing, my darling?_ >> he asks. At first there’s no response but wordless misery, enough that Charles is a little worried. << _Erik? Is everything alright?_ >>

<< _I’m sick._ >> The thought is grumpy, resentful, and fuzzy around the edges, as though Erik’s not entirely clearheaded.

<< _The weather is miserable today too, and the heating here is terrible. I’m not spending all day here wishing I was at home, so I’m going to call a cab. I’ll swing by and pick you up on the way._ >>

For a moment Charles thinks Erik is about to snap at him - after all, he’s well aware this is essentially Charles telling him he’s going home whether he likes it or not - but then he simply sighs, and Charles feels it when Erik gives in, resistance folding like the spines of a porcupine unbristling. When Charles peeks a little further Erik is shifting until he can lay his head down on his folded arms on his desk, eyes sliding half-closed. << _Okay_. >>

He tries not to let it spill over how pleased he is that Erik is letting Charles take care of him, but it’s hard, even though he’s sorry that Erik is sick, and entirely impossible not to feel a warm glow of pride inside his chest - pride in Erik at being able to concede, and a little pride in himself for reaching a point where Erik is willing to concede to _Charles_.

<< _Good,_ >> he says instead of _good boy,_ swallowing down the praise. No need to push it _._ The papers and books he needs fit easily into the leather briefcase with his laptop, and as he pulls on his coat Charles reaches out a separate thread to the department secretary, letting her know he’ll be working from home this afternoon, and to redirect his calls. << _I’ll let you know when I get there_ ,>> he tells Erik. _ <<Do you want me to call Tony?_>>

<< _I don’t need you to write me a sick note,_ >> Erik says, but it’s mitigated by his reluctant relief, claws blunted. << _I’ll tell the minions that they can manage without me for one afternoon. Tony won’t care._ >>

Charles smiles. << _All right then. Close your office door before they think you’ve gone to sleep and come in to draw on your face. I’m on my way._ >>

He calls the cab as soon as he’s ‘hung up’ on Erik, and by the time he’s finished closing everything down and writing a note for his door the driver is downstairs. It’s a quick damp rush across the sidewalk and into the back of the car, but the man doesn’t so much as blink, just takes the addresses and pulls out into traffic.

Erik is already in the lobby. He doesn’t even wait for Charles to come get him - as soon as the cab pulls up he’s already out the door and walking over with stoic resignation, climbing in beside Charles and dropping his briefcase to the floor with a carelessness he would never normally allow. Erik looks pale and a little sweaty, and when Charles reaches out to stroke his hair back from his forehead he’s definitely running a fever.

“One more stop,” Charles says to the driver, and directs him to the nearest pharmacy.

 

~*~ 

 

Erik goes to take a shower as soon as they get in, after a large dose of cold syrup. Charles leaves him to get on with it; Erik’s a grown man and more than capable of deciding what he needs once he’s admitted he’s sick, so Charles just changes into his home clothes and settles in on the couch with a fresh thermos of tea and his laptop, a pen tucked behind his ear and a thick printout of the proposed healthcare bill. He’s not quite able to persuade himself to work in the study instead, which probably means he won’t get as much done, but at least this way he’s accessible. Erik won’t have the excuse of not wanting to disturb him if he needs something.

The PDF of the British NHS’ policy on mutant treatment is, if anything, even longer, but there’s enough there for him to compare to that he gets rather bogged down in the details, so much so that he barely notices when Erik comes out of the bathroom and heads for the couch, staggering a little, until he practically falls onto it, bouncing Charles on the cushions and making him drop his handful of papers. “What - ”

Normally Erik is very graceful. He shows none of this when he lifts his feet laboriously onto the couch, tucking his legs up, and, without comment, lies down sideways, settling his head and shoulders down in Charles’ lap. Then, grumbling, he turns onto his side so that his face is buried in Charles’ stomach, his long body turned towards the back of the couch, and wraps his arm around Charles’ waist, curling up around him and squirming until he’s comfortable.

“Don’t say anything,” Erik mutters into Charles’ sweater before Charles can so much as express his surprise, voice muffled by the fabric and giving off a sense of embarrassment mingled with a need for comfort that he’s too stubborn to admit to verbally but that he lets Charles see, anyway, a wordless request for intimacy.

“All right,” Charles says softly, and lays his hand on Erik’s hair, then strokes it when Erik leans into the touch, the damp strands sticking to his palm as he curves it over Erik’s head. Despite the fact he’s putting out heat like a furnace Erik is shivering with chills, so Charles drags the old afghan down off the back of the couch and drapes it over him, tucks it in with careful deliberation.

He has to bend a little around Erik to pick up his papers, careful not to jostle him, but then he settles down and lets his hand rest on the back of Erik’s neck, palm spread over the leather of Erik’s collar.

Erik is half-asleep already, the cold medicine kicking in, but the touch makes him think wistfully of Charles hooking his thumb through the steel ring on the front of the collar, a hazy image Charles barely catches between the drowsy sound of his thoughts smoothing out. When Charles reaches into the gap beneath Erik’s chin to tug the collar around so he can get to the ring more easily Erik makes a contented sound and curls in closer, nuzzling into Charles’ belly as he falls entirely to sleep. The steel is cool around his thumb when Charles slips it on, just the right size to hold onto.

Then it’s quiet, just the two of them together while Erik sleeps.

The arms of the couch are wide enough for his laptop to sit on quite comfortably, but there’s no use in typing one-handed, so Charles closes his computer and uses it as a rest to write his notes out by hand instead. Erik is a warm weight across his lap. No doubt Charles’ feet will lose sensation eventually, but for now it’s comfortable, cuddled up close while the rain beats a rhythmic patter against the windows and blots out the rest of the world. He makes comments on the legislation’s limitations in the margins, pen scratching over the cheap copier paper, sipping at his tea with half a thought keeping track of Erik - cold medicine always hits him hard, and he’s been known to have nightmares, but this time he seems soothed by Charles’ nearness, snuffling a little through a blocked-up nose but otherwise calm. 

Charles keeps working for an hour or so without moving, in case he wakes Erik. Eventually, though, Erik stirs, and instead of stiffening the way he often does when waking - before he remembers where he is, a few seconds of feeling trapped before he relaxes back into Charles’ arms - Erik stays loose-limbed and heavy-eyed, groaning under his breath as he becomes aware of his congestion and the dull headache that’s been threatening for a little while.

“Here.” Charles encourages him to turn so that Charles can set the lip of his half-empty teacup to Erik’s lips and tips it carefully, letting him sip at the remaining lemon tea while Charles’ other hand supports his head and neck. Erik submits easily to it, letting his eyes drift closed again even as he drinks. “Do you want some aspirin?”

Erik’s voice is thick and nasal from the congestion. “No. Thank you.”

“You could always go lie down in the other room, if you’d like.”

“I want to stay here with you.”

“All right, then,” Charles says, and takes the cup away so Erik can settle back down. “Go to sleep, darling.”

There’s a humph of breath before Erik mumbles drowsily, “Okay,” and for once he does as he’s told the first time.


End file.
